Not By Blood
by thereichenbachfell
Summary: We follow Rachel Berry as she fights to survive in a world of unexpected enemies. She is haunted by the memory of her best friend's demise and is determined to restore justice. But who is truly responsible for Kurt Hummel's death?
1. Chapter 1

A ghoulish woman appears elevated on top of a towering stage, wisps of color streaked across her face; a face which curls into a snarling, menacing grin. Bringing the microphone closer to her lips, she whispers a name which is soon amplified and booms across the silent courtyard.

"Kurt Hummel."

Rachel Berry lifts her head, the name registering in her mind.

"No" she breathes.

Her eyes dart across the courtyard, she throws a look of desperation to her best friend, Kurt who looks back at her, water beading in his solemn eyes. Slowly he shakes his head as if to say to her 'No Rach, this is real.' Instantly men begin to grab at him, dragging him towards the stage, Kurt however is limp, his body becoming lifeless and defeated.

Then all of a sudden she is screaming. Panic and fear escaping through her raw throat in the form of this shrill hysterical noise. 

* * *

><p><strong>District Eight. Early morning. Reaping Day for the 73<strong>**rd**** Annual Hunger Games.**

I woke with sweat dripping from my lip and brow. I didn't even attempt to rub the drowsiness from my eyes; my body and mind were both already alert- shaken, terrified and alert. I couldn't forget what this day was and what it would bring. The day of the reaping.

Pushing thoughts of last year's events from my mind I put on my best dress, a dress which is only worn on the grimmest of occasions. I sit and brush my hair, mentally tallying my odds. One reaping ball with my name on it for each year I am eligible to participate in the Games. I am in the uncommon but fortunate position of never having signed up for tesserae, my father Mayor Berry holds authority with his job title and with this he is easily one of the richest men in District Eight. Despite making a habit of calculating my odds, I have never truly worried for myself. Out of the thousands of starving families in District Eight, plenty have made the risk of accepting tesserae in exchange for the odds being less in their favor, giving me an obvious advantage.

Instead the fear churning in my stomach was for my friends, Kurt was gone, they could no longer torture him the way they did in the arena but what about my other friends and cousins? It could easily be any of them this time, and I would have to watch them being dragged off to their death, left once more with a helpless empty feeling.

The door to my room is thrown open and I am torn from my thoughts.

My father a short, stout man stands in the doorway wearing the most exasperated face he can manage to pull. He wasn't born into power and privilege like most who bare his title, he was just another poor boy working in the factories trying to make daily quota and earn enough grain to survive. But this lifestyle didn't suit him; he would watch the Games in envy of the rich and glamorous citizens of the Capitol living a life of frivolity and luxury, protected from hardship under the watchful eye of President Snow.

Yes, Seymour Berry was an ambitious man; he wanted things and knew how to get them. His only advantage that pushed him towards the top rung of the district was his desperation; he was willing to do anything to get his way. Firstly he became very friendly with the Peacekeepers who generally didn't fraternize with the Capitol-hating public. Then slowly to gain their trust he would report discrepancies which had gone unnoticed throughout the district, some stolen grain, unauthorized trading and even on the rare occasion some poor desperate soul trying to jump the perimeter fence. Somewhere along the way this alliance made him an increasingly powerful man, a man which the Peacekeepers respected and often relied upon. I had always admired my father; even emulated him, wanting to be as ambitious and ruthless as he was, hoping one day I too could achieve power and status merely through sheer effort. However everything changed when Kurt's name was called at the reaping, my attitude toward the Capitol changed and more importantly my attitude towards my father. Now a frosty silence lingers over us whenever we are together, both too stubborn and hurt to look over the events which occurred exactly one year prior.

"You do realize _I _have to be there early for set up?"

"Well if _you _have to be there early, you should probably have already left."

"Rach-" He stops before he could utter another syllable, but I already know what he was going to say. For despite our feud and our power, this was reaping day and as we bicker other families are sobbing and preparing to say their final goodbyes. Walking together to the reaping even in our own little frosty silence would be our only goodbye if the odds weren't in my favor, and I was almost robbing him of that.

"Yeah I'm ready- let's go."

His face contorts for a brief moment into shock and confusion, not quite understanding why I'm in such a cooperative mood. However he quickly morphs back into his usual stony self and waits for me outside.

I quickly dash over to my bed and fumble with my pillow, recovering a picture of Kurt and my star necklace for luck. I look deeply into the photograph filled with his smile, his naive little smile.

"I promise I'll make them pay Kurt. One day, I'll make them pay." 

* * *

><p>I lingered in the open of the courtyard as my father discussed the proceedings in a hushed manner with a few Peacekeepers. The camera crew was being set up on every possible angle, preparing to capture all of the excitement, terror and tears. Slumped against a fence waiting for the courtyard to fill out I fidgeted with my necklace. The star dangling on the end of the chain was supposed to symbolize me, my ambition and my inevitable rise out of District Eight but now it is only a bitter reminder of my boyfriend, <em>sorry<em>, ex-boyfriend; Finn Hudson.

* * *

><p>Kurt and I were inseparable. Our similar personalities often clashed causing vicious rivalries and quarrels but no matter what we would always reconcile by the evening and meet out by the old oak which rested by the fence, at an isolated part of our District. Here we would enjoy the rare treats my father is sent in from the Capitol, Kurt being from a poor underprivileged family (unlike mine) was overly grateful for this generosity and demanded to contribute to our secret evening picnics. His talent lied in baking, so I often smuggled him extra supplies so that he could bake and bring beautifully extravagant cakes to our rendezvous point.<p>

One evening I was sitting waiting on Kurt as I noticed the sky started to darken, this concerned me as I knew he was late. This was extremely unusual as Kurt was the most freakishly punctual person I ever had the pleasure to meet. Just as I had decided to go look for him a tall figure began to approach, someone of great height and build was drawing closer and I could tell from his careless tread (in comparison to Kurt's discreet and swift footsteps) that this was a stranger. For some reason I panicked. I thought to myself this must be a Peacekeeper, and despite given my father's status and that curfew wasn't for another half hour or so, I shot up the tree- my feet slipped and hands grasped onto my small food parcel whilst I still tried to make purchase on the branches of the old oak.

_"You do realize I can still see you?"_

_Too preoccupied with trying to clamber up the tree I neglected to notice that a boy was staring straight at me, merely inches away from my face._

_"Do you-"_

_Falling. Ouch. Fell from the meagre height I had managed to climb, the parcel slipped from my grasp. The sudden proximity of the stranger startled me and now I am flat on my back, the back which is now suddenly aching and my face burning in humiliation._

_"Darn it." The tall boy looming over me mutters. "Sorry Kurt warned me about this, says I have no… tact." He says the word in a disjointed fashion as if testing it out. I am given the feeling he wasn't entirely sure what it meant. "-Or whatever."_

_Quickly as if trying to redeem himself he sticks out his hand in a gentle offer of help._

_"Wh-who are you?" I splutter, wary but determined._

_"Finn, Finn Hudson."_

_In response to this I give him a look, a look to communicate the fact that his name means nothing to me and that that wasn't the true nature of my question._

_"Oh- um I'm Kurt's brother."_

_I eye the boy for a moment, still sprawled in an undignified manner on the ground, thinking to myself. This boy, who is so very tall, built like a Career Tribute and wearing a fairly vacant expression; is Kurt's brother? Coupling with the fact that Kurt has never even mentioned any siblings to me, and that this boy looks nothing like him, I am very sceptical of his claim. Doubt contorts my face and despite how dim this boy maybe he can still tell I am dubious._

_"Oh no - not by blood, by law. He sent me here to give you this." He shakes an elegantly crafted cinnamon roll in his left hand, of which I am certain could only have been prepared by Kurt. At the sight of this I take his hand and with an abrupt firm grasp am pulled onto my feet._

We sat under the great old oak as the sun was setting as he explained about how Kurt was ill, and his determination for me to receive the cinnamon roll. I sat there listening to the boy as I slowly chewed away, and he spoke of the Hummel/Hudson household along with all the other things in which Kurt had neglected to tell me about his life in the poorer village. From that day on Finn was welcome at our evening picnics, he would only appear occasionally, but I found myself eagerly anticipating his presence and slowly this feeling became mutual. We were in love, at least what I believed was love.

We were together almost a year when the 72nd Reaping day rolled around; _okay_, ten months and eighteen days to be exact. I liked to keep track of these things because I had already mentally planned my future with Finn and wanted to be able to look back and count every perfect day I had spent with him. Finn on the other hand tended to find those sorts of things foolish and suffocating so I tried not to mention the fact I had already named our three future children, or that I had already chosen the house we were going to live in. I would have done anything for that boy. However at the time this didn't appear extreme or pathetic to me, as I was certain he felt the same; after all we were in love.

I had been dreading Reaping day for so long, with the knowledge of Finn's multiple reaping balls weighing in my mind - too many for just one person it seemed. I knew from the gnawing feeling in my chest that the odds were most definitely not in his favor. However all those sleepless nights when I had been worrying about Finn, I had neglected to give a second thought to my oldest and most loyal friend, Kurt.

There we stood lined up in a uniform manner in the courtyard; dressed in our best clothes, wearing our most hopeless expressions. I was hardly even paying attention as my eyes had glazed over and my mind played out endless scenarios of Finn's impending death in the arena. It was only when a girl began walking up to the stage and another girl began to sob beside me that I snapped back to reality.

_"Now to choose our male tribute who will have the privilege- no the honor of representing District Eight at our 72__nd__Annual Hunger Games!" Her hand with claw like nails, dips into the bowl before her then slowly brings the slip before her painted face- intentionally building the tension._

"Kurt Hummel."

I panic. I had not prepared for this outcome. It wasn't even an option in my mind. Delicate, skinny, beautiful Kurt wasn't the sort of person you see in the Hunger Games. Well not the sort of person you see make it past the Cornucopia- and then it dawned on me, Kurt was walking to his death.

A scream rips through me and suddenly Finn breaks through the crowds and is by my side, holding me.

Through my tears suddenly my mind flashes to the strong arms holding me. This boy, the one holding me, the one who initially struck me as similar to a Career Tribute he could definitely make it past the Cornucopia, in fact he could maybe even win.

"Finn, Finn!"

I push him back from me so I can look in his eyes.

"You have to volunteer."

I see his face crease in confusion, which frustrates me because we are running out of time and this was no moment for his trademark stupidity.

"Kurt won't make it in there for two seconds and you know it, but Finn you could actually win."

"Rachel, I can't believe you're asking me to do this, I thought you loved me and now you're choosing Kurt over me?"

I find this irrelevant. I'm not choosing, I'm just being realistic.

"He's your brother!"

Finn looks hard at me now, his eyes cold.

"Not by blood."


	2. Chapter 2

The courtyard starts to fill out and I tuck my necklace into the collar of my dress, as I try to regain my focus and composure. Flitting through the crowds I begin searching for faces, for someone comforting to stand beside as we wait, with our hearts in our mouths hoping another person will be condemned to death, anyone but us. Yet as I make my way to the area of the courtyard lined with girls of my age, the realization that none of the faces seem warm nor familiar, dawns on me. Occasionally I spot acquaintances from class, girls who I may have even called my friends but now as they stand eyes glazed, hands shaking- I feel uncomfortable approaching them. Besides, any friendly words of reassurance would merely be lies; I don't know how this is going to turn out. However if I was going to give it to them straight any one of them are more likely to be chosen today than I am- any one of them more likely to become the proverbial walking corpse. So instead of enlightening my classmates with my miserable, realistic perspective- I stand alone.

Standing straight with my eyes trained forward amidst the silent courtyard, I feel a gaze upon me; eyes burning into my back. Instinctively my head turns. This was a mistake, as I am met with the icy stare of one Finn Hudson. We lock eyes for a moment, and the bitterness between us is almost tangible. Before I break the frosty exchange, he slowly mouths two words to me; '_Good luck' _and I catch the glimmer that flickers in his eye. This is not only bewildering but extremely unconvincing, so I snap my head back to face towards the stage. I'm not sure what Finn is playing at, but I am certain of the fact that he loathes me. Now and then my burning hatred of him returns too, whenever I see Kurt's precious face in mind or hear his name, but mostly I try to feel detached from the boy. To me, Finn Hudson is just somebody that I used to know.

My father, the woman of my nightmares and an anxious looking red-head line up on stage before us, grinning at what feels like the most inappropriate time, but this supposedly warm gesture isn't aimed at us. Neglecting our presence, _Pastelle Peur_- the obscure escort sent straight from the heart of the Capitol, looks straight over her heads directing her faux affection to the entirety of Panem. She brightly welcomes us here, speaks of the rich traditional heritage of the Hunger Games- all the while wearing a wide smile which strikes me as far too big for her shrunken head and hollowed cheeks. She briefly introduces the new mentor for District Eight tributes, Emma Pillsbury- gesturing to the pale, shaken women who was barely standing, on the other side of my father.

I have to forcibly restrain a gasp. This woman had won the Hunger Games? She was similar to my height and even slighter in frame, appearing so delicate now as she stood elevated above the rest of us and I could tell from the slight shuffle and whispers from the girls surrounding me that this news had come as a shock to them too. However this feeling wasn't universal, the parents who teetered on the edges of the courtyard seem unfazed by this, so I can only assume that they remember witnessing Emma fight for survival in the arena. I shake my head ever so slightly in the faintest expression of disbelief, I can't imagine this woman fighting anyone- the entire image in my mind seems so wrong.

Then Pastelle gives a brief nod of recognition to my father, this is the part where he makes a speech but just as the honorable mayor opens his mouth he is pre-emptively silenced by Pastelle's recap of last year's events. I scrutinize the situation as it all seems so peculiar, Seymour being snubbed by another Capitol-adoring official, this sort of thing just never happened especially not on live nationwide broadcast. But even from the back of the courtyard I can see Pastelle's talon like nails subtly piercing into my father's arm and then swiftly beckoning him back to his seat. No matter how fleeting the exchange was, I could see that this was his warning- his threat from the Capitol.

And then the pang of guilt hit me. 

* * *

><p><em>"Not by blood."<em>

The colour drains from my face. My stomach drops.

"Any volunteers?" The ghoulish lady sneers. "-Any at all?" She knows there are none, but she continues to grin and ask regardless, making my blood boil. Heroes don't exist, not in a world controlled by fear. But I haven't resigned to fear yet. _No_, they will not have him.

I wrench my arm out of Finn's grip and fix him with a disgusted look. Twisting on the spot I sprint down to the stage. Finn is yelling, Peacekeepers are running after me and I can hear Pastelle trying to maintain order over the pandemonium. All eyes are on me whilst all cameras try to avert their gaze in fear of relaying this defiance to the entirety of Panem.

"Dad!" I scream in desperation. "Dad. Stop them, stop them._ Please."_

Before I can reach the stage his arms are around me. Just like Finn's was a moment ago. I am sobbing into his shirt, shaking as the grief wracks my body.

"Don't worry." My response is muffled in his chest. "-Daddy will fix it."

The grief subsides. My face illuminates and my head jolts up.

"-You have to do _exactly _as I say. There isn't much time." He side eyes a Peacekeeper who is cautiously approaching. I hesitate.

His voice has more urgency now. "You want to save Kurt don't you?"

"Yes." I breathe, as this automatic response escapes me.

Wasting no time he takes me by the hand and leads me down a staircase at the side of the stage. We are walking briskly and this frustrates me, they could have taken him to the train by now- we should be running. Then I realize the corridors only lead further down into darkness. He wasn't leading me to the train station at all.

"We're going the wrong way."

We continue walking. I feel his hand now tugging at me with ever increasing pressure.

"_We're only going further underground!"_I shriek my frustration turning into anger. Why isn't he listening to me?

I stop walking.

We aren't saving Kurt.

His back is to me now. His breathing is labored. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall, his body reacting not to the physical exertion but to something else entirely.

"I'm sorry about this Rach" His hushed voice hitched up an octave, breaking in the delivery of this one simple sentence. "_I really am."_

Arms latch onto me, trying to drag me back along the corridor. Hysterically I jerk away from them, thrashing from side to side. This escape attempt is so futile I break into manic laughter which slowly falls away into silent tears.

He doesn't turn around, not once as they slowly drag me backwards through the darkness. 

* * *

><p>I was kept in solitary for a week, I had no idea where I was or what they were planning to do with me, for here in District Eight if any slight discrepancies occur, immediate action is taken- my father made sure of that. By either whipping or hanging and sometimes if the Peacekeepers were feeling particularly callous, they would take part of your grain ration for the month, resulting in starvation. But mere solitary was never an option especially in a case like mine, so I lay there waiting for death with no concept of time inside this lamp lit room without any windows to connect me to the outer world.<p>

When I was released, I was momentarily confused as to why I was alive and unharmed with the exception of a few bruises in received in the struggle and being a few pounds lighter. However I soon realized my father must have pulled some strings in order to protect me, by abusing his power and pulling in favors. I had practically forgotten this uncharacteristic act of _'kindness'_; it is only now as I see this display of undermining dominance by Pastelle that I fully understand how indebted he is.

I glance up, tearing myself away from my thoughts and regaining focus on the stage when I find everyone is staring at me, my face starts to burn as I stand there awkwardly not sure whether I am being self-absorbed or simply paranoid, but as this unnatural silence continues I realize something is definitely wrong. A girl beside me nudges my arm and whispers to me, "It's _you_, go on it's you."

And then Pastelle's agitated voice booms out across the courtyard, confirming my fear.

"**Rachel Berry**."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the positive response so far, please review if you like this chapter or even if you hated it! I don't have a beta so your opinion is very important to the process. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>"<strong>Rachel Berry<strong>."

I see a person – a girl, walking. Her pace is steady, her face empty. I shout over to her but she doesn't hear me. I tell her to run, to save herself and yet she continues on- just walking. I can't quite understand the expression she wears, oddly serene as she mounts the stage. She stares out towards the sea of faces and yet searching for none, simply staring, her eyes dead to the world.

I guess this is what an outer body experience feels like. I've been told just before you die you can witness yourself from afar, as if your consciousness is going for walk but leaving your body behind. At this very moment it's true to say I'm not dying, but instead _I_- Rachel Berry, have become the proverbial walking corpse. The irony of this does not escape me, the odds have always been behind me and I always trusted the numbers, certain of the fact that it would never be me.

"**Matt Rutherford**."

_Stranger._

I slacken my fixed stare in order to take in the poor boy who shares my fate; wondering if he could be my future ally, or my future killer. My gaze scrolls to the back of the courtyard pinning down a distraught young man slowly making his way toward me, being jostled by Peacekeepers in an attempt at encouraging his pace. My eye catches another figure as he appears in the cleared path behind him. Could this be another hysterical relation? Another public disruption for District Eight could only mean bad things for my father. My eyes avert, now staring at the grain of the wood beneath my feet as I cannot bear to witness the events which are about to occur.

"I volunteer as tribute."

In an instant I flash my eyes up to reveal the face of the familiar voice. My mouth is dry. I feel off-balance; self-conscious and suddenly questioning the steely resolve I had perfected the moment my name had been called. Finn Hudson has now replaced the sobbing boy and approaches the stage in his place. Shoulders back, eyes forward with not a flicker of fear or regret within them.

My shock is visible, this turn of events has completely blindsided me. The lapse in my charade could prove fatal, so I quickly straighten up as my mind floods with unanswerable questions and my body drowns in rage. Who could this mysterious boy be, and how could his life possibly be worth more than Kurt's?

As Finn joins me I do not turn; I do not look at him, I refuse to breathe the same air as him so I shuffle over subtly- repelled by the boy. I can tell he's trying to get my attention but I am determined to not acknowledge his existence. Finn Hudson is dead to me.

* * *

><p>One hour, the time we are granted to give our final goodbyes. I always imagined that this allotted time was barely sufficient, how do you say goodbye to everyone you ever knew, everyone you ever loved - in a mere sixty minutes? But now as I sit perched on the edge of the velvet sofa, I find it hard to think of anyone who would care enough to bid me a tear stained farewell. My mind wanders to Kurt, sat here on this very spot one year ago. Probably waiting for me, waiting for me to tell him all of the things he should have already known. Or maybe just hoping for a simple goodbye, I couldn't even give him that.<p>

Sometimes I used to sit up there and just wait on him, sitting out there under our old oak. I'd pretend to myself that I was simply early, that he would be arriving any moment now. I would sit there until it got dark, happily awaiting his presence. All the while holding a bitter feeling in my stomach, knowing I was lying to myself.

I rub the cuff of my best dress against my eyes, just hoping he knew how much our time together meant to me. Silently cursing myself for ruining the only chance I had to say goodbye.

The door warily edges open. My father steps in. He's a mess. I can't recall him ever looking quite like this before. His tie is slackened; his jacket removed revealing dotted red marks on his sleeve. He wears a frightening expression, his rounded face contorted around a clenched jaw holding a silent rage. However as he returns my gaze he tries to soften giving me an apprehensive dead smile. We sit there for several moments, each either working up the courage to speak or the words in which to do so.

'So- '  
>'Rach-'<p>

We blurt out simultaneously.

I look away and let him go first. Relieved I no longer had to fill the silence.

"I know I haven't been the perfect dad to you-" my face contorts instinctively. I no longer use that word to describe what he is to me, he is my father not my dad. Dads are loved, looked up to, relied upon and above all other things, trusted. Now he is a mandatory father.

He notices my face, and it is clear I have hurt him. To his credit he continues on regardless.

"But I have always tried to do my best by you, always done what I thought was right." He pauses. "Now I know you may not see it right now but sometimes- sometimes you have make sacrifices to keep what's yours."

This is usually when I would pipe up with a scathing comment implying that the only thing he had ever truly fought for was power but then I glance back down at the red on his shirt. I quickly close my eyes, squeezing them shut.

"You have to forgive me Rachel. I am sorry and you have to forgive me."

It feels like I'm dying, the way he talks to me.

"I understand." I blurt out. My eyes still tightly shut. "I understand, but I can't forgive you- not yet."

I cautiously open my eyes, unsure quite how he will react. His eyes are wide, not entirely believing what I have just said.

"Not yet." He mutters under his breath. Then he inhales shakily.

"Not yet!" He roars at me. The rage he was condensing from the reaping finally being released.

"When are you going to let go of your stupid grudge Rachel? When they ship you home in a box?"

The door bursts open, Mr Hummel steps over the threshold not even looking for an invitation. He rests a hand on my father's shoulder and whispers something in his ear. My father jerks away from the hand.

"Don't you have enough problems of your own _Burt_." Venom released through clenched teeth.

Burt simply stands there, refusing to budge, holding eye contact with Seymour.

My father leaves the room. That could be the last time I will ever see him.

Burt crosses the room and kneels before me, his face level with mine. He has a kindly face; I'm surprised a man who has gone through so much hardship can still remain so very pure and good.

"Listen to me Rachel; you are not going to die."

My face remains blank.

"You're a_ Berry_."

"And that's supposed to be a good thing?" All life drained from my voice.

"Yes. _Berry's_ are winners, _Berry's _are fighters." He speaks with conviction, with complete faith in what he is saying and complete faith in me.

"When you truly put your mind to something Rachel, nothing can pull you off course."

Burt and I had always been on good terms, I was polite and courteous whenever I had been a guest in the Hummel/Hudson household but there was more to our connection than that. We had a silent bond and I could tell that he had always respected me. However as he gives me these words of encouragement; his stepson sits in the other room, the very boy who now happens to be my competition.

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Because someone's got to."

He rises from his kneeling position and hovers for a moment. I can tell he's deliberating over giving me a hug. Instead he takes my hand and holds it within his. His palms are warm and sticky but I don't mind as the gesture is immensely comforting.

"Good luck kid."

He removes his hands. The comfort is gone and so is he. I sit there as the coldness washes over me, left alone with my thoughts once more.

Finn Hudson, when I first met him the phrase 'an open book' sprang to mind. However now I just can't figure him out. How can you simply go from cold-hearted coward to hero in the space of a year? And what is his connection to Matt Rutherford? Finns' voice was unwavering, certain. Unusually so for someone who had just made a life-altering, split second decision. I'm starting to think that it wasn't his love for this _Matt _boy that drove him here, but his hatred for me. That he had planned all along to volunteer if my name was called. Even though it would explain his strange expression before the reaping, the idea is so far-fetched and twisted that I quickly dismiss it as soon as I'd consider it. Though mostly because the idea makes my blood run cold. Nevertheless the gnawing feeling of unresolved mystery still preys upon my mind until the door is opened for the final time.

Men in white appear in the doorway, this can only mean one thing. It is time to leave District Eight.


	4. Chapter 4

We are pushed into the back of a compact yet luxurious car. The journey we are reassured is a short one but as I sit there pressed against Finn, our legs bumping together, I feel like I have endured hours of this painful situation. When you hate someone every single insignificant thing they do can annoy you. But I swear he is just trying to irritate me. Firstly it's the fact that he hasn't quite got the nasal inhalation thing down yet. Instead he gulps for breath through his mouth making the most repulsive noises whilst his jaw hangs ajar. Then it's the fact that he refuses to move his from his hand from his knee so that whenever we bump together his hand _inadvertently_, grazes my thigh. I wonder if I simply overlooked his flaws when we were together or if I simply hadn't noticed them yet- blinded by young love. However my skewed vision of Finn now has probably brought all of his worst aspects to light overshadowing his more appealing qualities.

Pastelle's hospitable act has been dropped. She doesn't make a single attempt to break the tension, if anything she makes it considerably worse by periodically glaring at me through her compact mirror. These daggers become unbearable so I watch my home roll past through tinted windows. Goodbye home. Goodbye safety. Goodbye to the old Rachel Berry.

Flashing lights, an explosion of colour as the car slows to a crawl. I sit there for several moments overwhelmed by the reality that this fuss is over us. My door is opened, and a hand hovers before me, willing me to take it. I warily accept the hand and a firm grasp pulls me out of my temporary safe haven; into the blur of blinding lights. Finn keeps his hold on me as he pushes through the commotion of photographers, whilst following Pastelle and our mentor onto our train. He keeps a brisk pace and doesn't look up at any of the faces even when they scream his name.

"_Rachel!"_

I glance upwards, an immediate reaction as I hear my name.

"How do you feel? Are you excited to be chosen?"

A sudden impulse grips me. Perhaps it's the cameras and the hysteria but I feel confident, something which I haven't felt in a long time. So I grin and face them.

"Oh, it's a _blessing_." Sarcasm dripping from tongue, but they seem to swallow it.

I linger for a moment, allowing them to take picture upon picture regardless of the fact that the entire thing is being filmed. I give them my most winning smile and strike a series of flattering poses. I cock my head to the side, turn my back to them and glance over one shoulder. I playfully laugh as they lap up my performance.

Finn doubles back when he realises what I am doing. He puts his arm around my waist and all but carries me onto the train.

I hear a series of 'awws' and 'boos' behind me as their star has been whisked away.

As soon as we step onto the train the door closes, I suppose my antics were enough appease the hungry photographers. I could not be more relieved that the door has given us some momentary privacy, as Finn does not look like he can hold his outburst any longer.

"What the hell are you playing at Rachel?"

My cheeks flush an ashamed red. For although I did initially play up to the photographers with the thought of public reaction and sponsorship in mind, I now realise that I enjoyed every moment of the spotlight regardless of why it shone on me.

"I could ask you the same thing." I mutter under my breath, not looking him in the eye, for to do that would give him the false impression that I respected him in the slightest. Instead I take in my new surroundings; this is nothing like the carts of coal or hay we would occasionally see pass on the train line, this is more like a five star hotel hurtling at top speed towards our final destination, the Capitol. The door in which we stand by must be made of some high security materials because now I can hear nothing of the calamity outside, where we stood mere moments ago. The sharp silence inside the train only makes the confrontation more uneasy.

"What?"

He is still enraged but completely taken off guard by my faint response. I haven't uttered a word to him in over a year so perhaps he thinks my stony silence is over.

"I'm a star, Finn. My dreams are bigger than this." I motion to District Eight which lies beyond the doors.

"And they are bigger than you. So don't get in my way again."

The games have already begun. They started from back in the courtyard when he wished me good luck. Not only am I performing for the Capitol but for my only lover and worst enemy, Finn Hudson. I have no idea why he is here, so I can not trust him. He is hiding something and until I know exactly what it is I will continue to hide too. Hide my own secret agenda.

His eyes move back and forth between mine; seemingly trying to work out a puzzle too big for his usual brain capacity. But then his eyebrows knit together and his entire expression appears softer somehow. He reaches for my throat. I jump back. And crash hard into the wall. His hand dips under my collar and retrieves the star pendant. Suddenly I am regretting ever putting this thing on, what is he going to think? That I secretly still have feelings for him and wear the necklace he gave me as a symbol of our undying love? Rachel Berry you can be so very stupid at times.

"You are a star. I was afraid you had forgotten."

Suddenly the train shudders and springs to life. The narrow passageway begins to rock and we propel forwards. I am taken aback by the speed, figures are impressive indeed but when you feel yourself being carted at 250mph cross country the sensation is entirely different.

I swiftly turn away and head up the passageway of the train cutting off our brief exchange. Finally I can breathe again. Being near Finn right now makes me all sorts of uneasy. 

* * *

><p>I enter the dining room to discover that they have already started the meal without me. Finn and Miss Pillsbury our mentor are sat across from one another sharing hilarity over some unknown anecdote, Pastelle seems to be above the childish laughter but she wears a grin that indicates her amusement. As I walk into view they instantly stop, their gleeful expressions drop and they straighten up. I can't escape the feeling that they were talking about me. Great, I'm late to one dinner and I'm already the least favourite tribute. Not that I expected much help from our mentor anyway, she probably only won inadvertently by hiding up in some trees for weeks on end. However I do need her help for sponsors, so this alliance she has already made with Finn is bad news for me. I try to my disguise sour mood by drinking a mug of tea that rests by my place setting, however it is cold and disgusting so I can't help but spit it straight back into the mug. Not a very wise decision whilst I'm trying to make a good impression but hopefully I was subtle enough so no one will notice.<p>

"Oh, oh no." Miss Pillsbury squeaks out in her mousy voice. She stands up, pushing back from her chair and staggers out of her seat with a napkin pressed against her mouth. Her face appears even paler than it did at the reaping if that's possible, and looks like she might sick.

"I am so very sorry." Her words muffled through the napkin. "Please excuse me."

She makes a dash for the door, her heels clipping on the laminate. I scan her plate and she has hardly eaten any of the first courses, so it can't be food poisoning. We sit for a moment, all of us staring at our packed plates with a complete lack of appetite so I am quite relieved when Pastelle decides to take control of the situation. She takes us through to a different room where we can watch each individual reaping. Pastelle too excuses herself in order check on Miss Pillsbury so we are left to watch them alone.

"You do realise we need her, right?" Finn jumps straight into his question as soon as the door closes behind Pastelle. "Without a mentor how do you expect to get through the training or the opening night or…or the interviews or.."

"The arena?"

He was tiptoeing around the only real event we need a mentor for. The only real reason we are here. I wonder if he's afraid, I never gave the idea much entertaining considering the fact that he volunteered, but now I think about it last year he seemed terrified of the mere thought. Maybe he still is.

"Well why are you trying to sabotage us then? Do you really hate me that much?"

I am dumbfounded, which is not a familiar sensation for me.

"Your antics with the tea.."

I still don't respond, no idea what he is getting at.

"She's a mee-so. A misah- . She has OCD Rachel."

Oh a mysophobe. I chuckle to myself, Finn can be somewhat endearing when he gets confused. His face remains serious, even throughout my giggling.

"Look, Finn. I didn't know. The tea was just cold that's all."

"You should apologise to her."

I was about to ask what good would that have done, for I hate apologising especially in a situation where I have done nothing wrong but the District One tributes appear on the television screen and I become completely captivated with my competition.

**Quinn Fabray**

A dainty blonde girl is chosen. She is pretty, perhaps the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her size and stature would make her appear almost harmless if it wasn't for the look she wore on her face. It wasn't just confidence, it was a ferocity she harnessed that made me feel both fascinated and afraid.

**Jessie St James**

The male tribute also looked confident, but this wasn't exactly a surprise. As a tribute from District One he has probably trained for a long time for the so-called honour of being a tribute.

The next pair of tributes are the ones who truly initiate my fear. District Two, the Capitol's lap dogs -and boy do they look prepared.

**Lauren Zizes**  
><em><br>_**Noel Puckerman**

They don't even need to act superior, they wear no facial expressions which elicit fear or intimidation, as their size and muscular build already have my palms sweating. The boy does have a casual bravado about him though, something in his calm demeanour that suggests he is certain he will return home.

I'm not going to make it. After Burt's speech I had found solace in those words, I felt like I had a chance. I thought to myself that I could outwit my opponents, that perhaps I could trick them into their own demise. However now as I see these terrifyingly powerful bodies, designed just for killing, I know that I do not stand a chance. They will murder on sight, not stick around long enough for you to stab them in the back or pour poison in their tea.

The names begin to roll past faster and it is harder to keep track of the faces they belong to. My memory clings onto a select few.

District Four **Sebastian Smythe**

Volunteers with a wild smirk on his face. Clearly he finds the prospect of getting some blood on his hands a fun vacation from the life of a fisherman.

District Nine **Blaine Anderson**

A considerably smaller boy than the rest of the male tributes but for what he lacked in height he made up for in those powerful looking arms. He had a handsome, solemn face and I could tell that the prospect of having to kill anyone did not provoke joy within him.

District Eleven **Brittany Pierce**

She almost appeared to dance on stage, not out of glee but just her swift nimble movements were just too beautiful to be categorised as merely walking. Instead of putting on a mask or breaking down into tears this girl accepted her fate surprisingly well. It seemed almost as if she did not understand what was happening to her. I couldn't help but pity the confused girl as she stood there on stage, content within her own dreamy world. 

* * *

><p>Although I would never admit it to his face, Finn was right. I need Miss Pillsbury on my side so I decide to go and apologise despite my initial reaction. It's darker now and wandering up the swaying narrow corridor is made into an even more challenging feat. I test one of the rooms as I have given up looking for a marked door reading 'Emma Pillsbury' in brightly coloured letters.<p>

I gently knock twice and then enter. I find myself in a dimly lit room with no bed in sight, it appears to be a used office with files stacked untidily on all available surfaces. I wander over to a shining globe at the back of the room, my curiosity beckoning me when my practicality is begging me to leave. It is a glass bowl which just happened to catch the light, I feel a little foolish for being drawn in by such a mundane object. But then I notice the paper slips. This is the glass ball from the reaping containing District Eight's prospective tributes. I dip my hand inside wondering if I will pull out a name I recognise.

**Rachel Berry**

I chuckle to myself and think of the old phrase _deja vu_. I reach inside the bowl again to draw out another name.

**Rachel Berry**

I only have my name in here six times, this coincidence unsettles me slightly. So I rip out name after name.

**Rachel Berry  
>Rachel Berry<br>Rachel Berry  
>Rachel Berry<br>Rachel Berry**

This is _impossible_**. **I search through dozens of slips. Each and every one reads my name. **  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Slips of paper have spilled out all over the compartment floor, unfolded, disheveled. Frantically I try and stuff them back in; in a futile attempt of returning this room back to normality, to disguise my presence. I never should have been here.

_Okay, okay it looks fine_, I tell myself. _Just get out. Get out now_. With the adrenaline rush of danger coursing through me I hastily make my way to the door. Not even attempting to deaden my footsteps as I escape the scene of the crime. The crime of course being that I know too much, unwanted information can be such a burden. Damn my curiosity, why do I always need to know everything? I am careful to close the door softly, my sense returning to me. A bead of sweat trickles down my brow in relief, being caught in the midst of that disturbing realisation would have resulted in an early end for me. Well _earlier_.

The train jutters.

A welcomed interruption as I need to get back to my room, get tucked up in bed and forget this whole ordeal. That's the plan anyway, my mind has the frustrating tendency to pull out the things I wish to stay buried and show them to me frame by frame as I slip from consciousness. As my own little slideshow of horror, the perfect bedtime story.

Feeling my way through the swaying corridor was a challenge at first but now as I tiptoe through the darkness retracing my steps in an attempt to find my room, the challenge is becoming frustratingly impossible. I pause and try to gather my bearings.

_"Evening." _A voice sneers at me through the darkness.

I am the deer, caught in the hunter's headlights.

"I am so sorry, I know I shouldn't be just wandering but I was just looking to find Miss Pillsbury to you know to apologise like Finn said and I uh got lost so I was just walking around," my arm limply gestures up the passageway "and was trying to find my way back to my room but it's so dark and I was just standing here thinking." I take a deep gasp for air as I resurface from my frantic ramble.

She comes closer and I can see her face which is palely illuminated in the moonlight from the window opposite. Pastelle appears different in the night, perhaps it's the lack of colourful face paint but she appears raw, and exposed. She seems in thought for a moment but then her eyes refocus and connect with mine. They are wild.

_"Up there?" _She points behind me,to the passageway I had just previously gestured. Oh no, it's clicked. She knows.

"I didn't find her though," I blurt out, backtracking. "I didn't try any of the doors because I wasn't sure so-"

"Don't _lie_ to me girl." She practically spits at me, her words are filled menace.

I stare her down in a look of defiance; I am tired of this babbling, innocent little girl act. This isn't who I am.

"I will not have _you _of all people, call me a liar_."_

Her face tightens; I see something in her snap. In a split second she pounces, her claws tear across my cheek. A hot pain bursts out and my hand flies to my face in a protective motion. My fingers are greeted with stickiness as they find the gash Pastelle has opened on my cheek. I hold my hand tighter to my face, easing the flow of blood.

Pastelle leans towards me close enough so I can feel her breath. I do not flinch, regardless of how terrified I am. Stubbornness forces me to hold my ground and keep her eye contact.

"Let's see your Daddy cover_ that _up." 

* * *

><p>The breath catches in my throat as I open my compartment door.<p>

"K-Kurt." I choke out.

Leaning against the dressing table in the back of the room is Kurt filing his nails in a nonchalant manner. However this isn't my little innocent friend from my memories- this is Kurt from the arena, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his back. His skin appears darker than his usual pallid complexion; after all he did survive for weeks in the boiling pit of the rainforest. The blood from his wound seeps across the surface and leaves crimson dots on the carpet below. I shrivel up my nose at the awful sight.

"You look_ terrible_."

He lets out a slight chuckle.

"I could say the same for you."

I sit over on the bed adjacent to him and he tosses me a croissant. He eyes the cuts on my cheek as I sit and politely nibble away.

"Look Rachel I'm going to cut to the chase here, you are not doing yourself any favours with this little insolent schoolgirl act."

I look up from my croissant in order to scowl at him.

"No, don't look at me like that, you know exactly what I mean." He finishes filing his left set of nails and quickly blows on them, checking their evenness. "Being less than tolerable with Finn, getting on Pastelle's bad side whilst she already has cause to hate you and probably making Emma upchuck the entire contents of her tiny tummy."

My face contorts. That wasn't even _my _fault. Wait, what did he say? Pastelle already has cause to hate me? I only just met her today.

"Hold on a second. Pastelle's just crazy, she hates everyone."

Kurt shakes his head and drops his face into his palms, rubbing his eyes.

"You just don't get it, do you?" His face springs up. "Pastelle rigged the reaping. But I'm guessing you already gathered this." He stretches out his finger, shushing me before I can even interject. "Why? Because of your idiotic stunt last year, that's why. She almost got fired Rachel and she's taking that out on you."

Idiotic stunt..? I am crestfallen. I was just doing my best, but of course my best attempts to save him were so pitiful they appeared idiotic in his eyes and now it has led to my certain death as well. Look where my attempts of heroism have got me, not only endangering my own life but my fathers too…

"No- no, look. I know you are trying your best but you have to do better than that to survive out here. You are going to have to think. Trust no one, play nice with everyone."

And with that he yanks the remaining croissant from my hands then proceeds to exit casually from the door behind me.

"Hey Kurt" I call to him sleepily, "I'm sorry I didn't save you."

He pauses and then leaves without a reply or a simple turn of the head.

I pull the covers up around me and wonder if this day will ever end. 

* * *

><p>I wake with a start. What on earth happened last night? I rush over to my dresser where he stood, my hand runs clean over the surface and I bend down to inspect the carpet. No blood. I truly am going crazy.<p>

I hear nails scratching on the other side of the metallic door, a feral animal perhaps?

"Breakfast!" Pastelle's chirpy voice laced with irritation calls through to me. - A feral animal indeed. I catch myself, play nice Rachel. Remember? 

* * *

><p>I am relieved when I see Miss Pillsbury sitting at the breakfast table, I didn't ruin our chances after all. But when she becomes aware of my presence she noticeably tenses. She hates me. Alright time to put Kurt's schmoozing plan into motion<em>. <em>I shudder at the thought of him standing in my room last night, a bleeding animated corpse. Am I really taking advice from my own twisted hallucinations now?

"Come sit Rachel." Miss Pillsbury gestures towards the seat next to Finn. Despite the fact that I clearly repulse her, she is trying her best to include me. So I play nice and walk over to them, smiling sweetly at Finn as I take my seat- this feels so wrong.

"Oh, good gracious! What happened to your face?" I touch my cheek remembering the incident; I probably should have glanced in the mirror before leaving my room this morning. Subtly scanning the dining room I realise Pastelle is not joining us for breakfast so I lie smoothly, without having to worry about her reaction.

"I scratch during my sleep - bad habit."

Finn looks up from his cereal with a dubious expression, he knows this is extremely out of character for me but Miss Pillsbury seems to buy it- so I am in the clear. Her pursed mouth does tighten though as she believes she has uncovered another one of my repulsive habits.

"Anyway, I have wanted to get a proper chat with you two before we arrive at the Capitol and this feels like a good of time as any-"

Me and Finn sit bolt upright in our chairs, she has our full attention now.

"Are there any objections - and I encourage you to be honest with me now- against you two being allies?"

She flicks her eyes up from her dainty cup of coffee and stares us down; revealing an intensity I never knew she was capable of. We both sit there, stiff as boards. _Honesty?_That is something I would love to get from Finn right now, but we both know that is not going to happen. At this stage I keep my mouth shut, torn between trying to acting tolerable towards Finn and my inner gnawing hatred for him. Having him for an ally would certainly keep me safer in the arena up until the point where he stabs me in the back.

Emma's eyes flit between us trying to decipher our hesitant silence. Then she resigns with a sigh.

"No objections then? Great." But she does not seem pleased; it is obvious we do not trust each other and partnerships in the arena without this vital component always have a bloody end. I think of Kurt with his gaping wound- stabbed in the back. I wonder if he received it from a supposed ally and Kurt isn't exactly one to trust so easily.

"I object." They both turn their heads towards me in disbelief. I take Finn's hand resting on the table and squeeze it.

"I would only hold Finn back. I don't want to jeopardize his chances. After all I have already asked too much of him in the past." My eyes fall to the table in an act of shame. Are they buying it?

I feel Finn moving his hand in order to clasp mine. "Rachel-" Finn's voice sounds heavy with concern but Miss Pillsbury interjects.

"No Finn, she has made her choice."


	6. Chapter 6

We arrive at the Capitol and it is utterly mesmerising. My jaw is still hanging ajar when they whisk us off to be prepped for the opening ceremony. Finn and I are now finally separated. Ever since I objected to our partnership he has been watching me like a hawk. He hasn't let me out of his sight, but not in a threatening way- his eyes seem quite sorrowful actually. I think my pretence may have worked a little too well. All I wanted was a way of escaping him without making myself an even bigger target but now he must believe I am in love with him. That could be potentially problematic.

When we reach the backstage area for the opening ceremony they waste no time moulding me into their idea of perfection. I have been told expressly not to struggle and as this was about the only advice I have received from my mentor so far, I decide to obey. Here I am taken apart and rebuilt. By the end I hardly recognise myself, but apparently this is what beauty looks like, as my prep team appear to be pleased with their work. Back in District Eight I thought I was rather well maintained, my family had enough money to keep myself clean and to afford new clothes each year. At home Kurt was my stylist and for another poor District boy he sure could pick an outfit, often shaming me for my 'terrible taste' frustrated that he could dress better than me with what scraps of fabric he managed to salvage from his factory job. So I often allowed him free reign with my wardrobe choices before each reaping and it actually transformed those dark days into beautiful memories. That was Kurt I suppose, putting a sunny spin on everything with a sarcastic phrase and a touch of his special flair. The dress I was wearing for this year's reaping Kurt had confessed was his favourite; it was an old thing that he had picked out at the market a few years back. However when I arrived to be assessed they immediately cut it off me, turning it into mere rags before getting to work on my body.

Somehow I don't think Kurt would appreciate the so-called fashion they have planned to adorn Finn and I in for the ceremony as our district's main produce was textiles they had created matching patchwork outfits. These were ugly, yes - but not ugly enough to stand out. They were safe that's how I saw it; we were never going to get noticed in these.

The clock is truly ticking now and they are working on hair and make-up, about three of them darting around me- fussing and tutting as they go.

"Oh my, what-" The girl working closely on my face makes a disgusted noise. "Is _that_?"

The other girls dart round and mimic the first's expression. When the disgusted threesome doesn't receive a response they pull an extended magnified mirror out from the wall and force me to inspect my face. I roll my eyes, the scar on my cheek has finally began to scab over hiding the evidence of Pastelle's hostility but leaving three lumpy ripples on my face instead.

"It's just a graze. I fell off the train." I mutter, but they are no longer interested in my opinion apparently. Damn you Pastelle, instigator of awkward situations. Next time she lashes out at me I shall have to remind her to aim for a less obvious place.

"Do you know what Vermillion." The first girl speaks in an absurd Capitol accent, one hand on hip the other playing in frustration with her obscene wig. "I just don't know what I am going to do with that- that, _thing. _The texture is just awful, I mean truly_ awful. _I can't cover it up without emphasising it." She appears rather distressed now and moves her hand to her forehead, visibly showing her dismay. The girl she was complaining to -Vermillion, who despite her flamboyant name seems a little more introvert and sheepish attempts to comfort the first but her comfort is quickly dismissed. "No- you know what, they promised they would be intact. How am I supposed to work with this?" She gestures at me without even making eye contact, I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"It's alright Prue, we'll work something out." Vermillion attempts to calm her down.

"Maybe, maybe you could just leave it?" I ask gently expecting my input to go once more unnoticed, instead the entire disgusted trio rears it heads round and eyeballs me.

"It would probably help if I had at least one intimidating feature, right?"

They all look at each other, holding a silent conference.

Vermillion turns to me, considering my suggestion. Noting my tiny frame, probably just realising how weak and feeble I appear. An easy kill.

"Well maybe if we vamp it up a little, make it look dramatic. Like you received a wound in a proper fight." She suggests to Prue, her eyebrows raised in a hopeful expression.

I think back to my confrontation with Pastelle, that's the closest thing to a fight I have ever experienced and it was terrifyingly proper enough.

Prue appears like her spirits have lifted, "Okay but if we are going to do this- we are going the entire way do you understand?" She kneels down to look into my eyes, acknowledging my existence for the first time.

No. I didn't have a clue what she meant but I gathered she was going along with my suggestion, which was good enough for me.

"I understand."

She whispered something in the other girl's ears and Prue proceeds to pick up a tool which appears to me like a flat plastic knife. Vermillion and the silent one hold my wrists to the chair as Prue brings the knife up to my face. Oh my god what are they _doing. _What on earth have I agreed to? I struggle at their grip suddenly regretting the promise I made mere moments ago. Without warning the knife is cutting into my face, the pain bursts free once more burning as the knife twists and tears against my skin. I dig my nails dig into the arms of the chair, trying to condense my pain into a manageable tangible thing in which I could destroy. I squirm for several minutes as the pain slowly melts away into an endurable stinging sensation. Prue grabs a can sitting near her and sprays my face with a fine mist that makes my eyes sting and water. Then they release me and provide a mirror so I can see the results of their torture. Dramatic, that's one way to put it. They have reopened three stems of the gashes Pastelle had carved on my face and suspended the crimson flow as it pours out of the wound; overall appearing as if I have just stepped out of a battlefield. 

* * *

><p>I choke with laughter when I see Finn waiting for me in his patchwork suit; he appears somewhat like a moody scarecrow. It's quite fortunate that my hatred is hidden behind my amusement because I keep forgetting that I am supposed to be appearing affectionate towards him.<p>

"You may laugh, but just so you know you look equally stupid right now." He smiles at me, radiating warmth. To be honest with myself he has been treating me a lot nicer since my fake confession it's almost like having my old Finn back. Perhaps he never intended to kill me in the first place, what if he volunteered to protect me? No, I cannot think like that right now. My mind is swimming with possibilities. I just need to focus on my charade, no more distractions. He bends down to my height and looks in my eyes, delicately holding my chin in place. My body goes rigid, he hasn't touched me like this in a long time. He leans in. Please no. I shut my eyes in horror.

"Scratching yourself again Rachel?" He remarks with a dubious tone. I open my eyes and find him inspecting my fresh wound. He wasn't leaning in to kiss me after all. Relief and embarrassment colours my face, as he straightens up and pulls back from me. It's obvious that he's picked up on my flushed cheeks so I flit my eyes away from him and try to act aloof. That's when I notice the District One boy staring at me from the other side of the hallway. What was his name again? _Jessie St James, _that's it_. _We hold our gaze for a while as Finn is distracted within his own confusion. His stare is so intense, unblinking I find it hard to keep looking directly at him but my stubbornness connects our eyes. He doesn't wear a look of menace or derision but instead of curiosity. I mentally thank my stylists for painfully restoring my wound as it is the perfect war paint, if it can attract the attention of a Career Tribute maybe it can keep the public's interest too. The boy winks at me and then returns to the blonde beside him. My eyes also return to Finn when I have regained my composure.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-" Finn finally attempts a somewhat coherent response to my awkward reaction of an innocent gesture. I'm not quite sure what he is referring to; the remark, the intimate touch or giving me the false impression of the kiss. Whatever it is I can't have that ruining all the progress I have made with him today.

"I'm just nervous for the ceremony; it's not your fault Finn." And with that I take his hand and we face the opening ceremony together. Side by side. 

* * *

><p>After the opening ceremony we are taken to our living quarters on the eighth floor, Pastelle shows us into a lavish comfortable room filled with food and four servants lining the walls. I note the way they are dressed and mentally correct myself; these are Avox's. Finn and I quickly seat ourselves in order to start the feast, normally our manners would tell us to curb our appetites but this had been a taxing day and we could no longer wait.<p>

"Rachel, would you mind?"

My head spins one eighty and I take in the tiny red head wearing the anxious expression, she points towards the doorway clearly indicating that she requires me alone. My mouth is filled with bread so I quickly chew in order to object.

"If maybe I could have a quiet word with you" I remain seated as I try to swallow the entire roll, I can tell she is becoming increasingly agitated but speaking with my mouth full would probably send her on another sprint to the bathroom. "…alone?"

_Gulp._

"Yeah sure, almost done-"

"I meant now." And with that she is gone. I can only assume she intended I follow, so I push back from my chair with a sigh and excuse myself. As soon as I walk out of the room she rounds on me.

"You were the one who asked for these private sessions Rachel."

"…I _did?"_

"You refused to be allies with Finn. Did you expect me to talk tactics in front of him?"

"To be honest Emma, I didn't expect you to 'talk tactics' at all."

She twitches.

"My name is Miss Pillsbury and my job is to keep you alive." Her mousy voice has taken on a whole new quality; it is layered with a firm assertiveness that takes me off guard.

"Miss Pillsbury, yes of course- I'm sorry but how exactly do you plan to do that? You can't exactly teach luck and as fair as I'm aware I am totally fresh out."

"Rachel I am trying to help you."

"Help me?" I spit incredulously at her. "Even with a competent mentor I'm still a goner."

"It had nothing to do with luck." She practically whispers. Her eyes seem disconnected as if her mind is no longer here, but buried in a far off memory. "Believe me- I wish it had. I have done some truly terrible things to keep my life Rachel, but I did them because I _wanted_ to live. Now no one is forcing you, you can enter the arena and commit the noble act of dying for your morals but if you want to survive this thing- if you truly cherish your life then I can prepare you for war." 

* * *

><p>After my intense tactics meeting I quickly catch up on the cold meal I missed, the room is empty as everyone has already went to bed in order to get a good night's rest before our first training session in the morning. Despite how nervous I am for facing the other Tributes, I am quite excited for training but mostly so I can put Miss Pillsbury's plan into motion.<p>

Navigating my way to my new bedroom in the dark reminds of our train and my run in with Pastelle. She hasn't spoken a single word to me since then, in fact it almost seems like she has been avoiding my company entirely. Maybe she's afraid I've told. Even though it's a far off guess the idea makes me smile, Pastelle fearing me- now there's a pleasant thought. 

* * *

><p>Twenty four of us in a line, it's not hard to pick out the killers from the corpses. All of those at the top end wear ravenous faces but slowly as we drift down towards the cast off districts I notice the expressions grow gradually more hopeless and peter off into plain terrified.<p>

A stern commanding woman reads through a set of rules before releasing us. I don't catch a word though; I'm far too busy maintaining my poker face whilst the careers glare at me to listen. When I start to see tributes dispersing I make my way to the survival skills section. Emma made it clear that this was vital for me to learn because I had a 'gentle upbringing', but I knew she was just scared to say that I was spoiled. I had always understood that I led an easier life than most in District Eight, I appreciated my full belly and warm home but to be honest I still envied others. Despite Kurt living with the harsh effects of poverty, it was hard to escape the fact that he was loved and adored by his family .That was something I had always craved, a proper family.

How to purify water, how to make a fire, how to distinguish an edible plant - these simple skills were the ones I focused on first. Making a fire was trickier than the rest but after an infuriating amount of attempts I quickly dismissed that station entirely, fire would only lure predators anyway. Next I moved onto the traps section. I flick through an expansive book that demonstrated creating snares for both animal and human prey. Pausing on an impressive trap made of only fine rope which was designed to catch rabbits I pick up some rope and begin knotting it, following the instructions exactly.

I feel a presence behind me but I decide to ignore it, trying to maintain my focus.

"I've heard about you," I can hear a smile in his voice, "the rich little mayor's daughter from eight, who brought her boyfriend along to keep her safe."

My eyes don't flicker from the knot I am failing to tie correctly, but I can tell he's staring intently at me. This Jessie kid is determined to get under my skin, to rattle me. I'll be damned if I give him the satisfaction.

"So who gave you that nasty cut, huh? Was it my girl Quinn? She has a nasty temper."

He sits down next to me, apparently desperate to get my attention.

"Not much of a talker, huh?"

"What do you want?" I turn to him, exasperated.

He raises his eyebrows in a look of fake astonishment.

"Whoa someone's a little cranky," his eyes move away from me and focus on the rope in my hands, I feel my cheeks flush embarrassed at my failure just as I was trying to give my act of superiority.

"No, no it's about the loops, see?" His voice softer, more sincere- he grabs hold of my wrist and his hands close from tip to tip. He slides his fingers down the back of my palms and then interlaces them with mine. Then his other hand skilfully drapes the thin rope over and under our intertwined fingers. He gives the line a neat, sharp tug and withdraws our hands, by curling his fingers over mine and gently returning them to a natural position. I'm so overwhelmed by this unusually warm gesture that I hardly take note of his next move but soon enough he performs a double sharp tug on both ends and a complex looking trap dangles before me.

Careers: the beasts infamous for their strength and brutality, or throwing spears and wielding axes. I look over this boy properly for the first time and he just doesn't fit the bill. His slim yet muscular physique appears strong, yes but a body more built for agility than fighting. Quite a few of the male tributes here would have the weight advantage if it came down to hand to hand combat. Besides when did you ever see a career tie a knot in the battlefield?

He stands up to move away from me.

"You heard wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard wrong, he's not my boyfriend."

We hold eye contact for a moment and his face appears stern and unyielding. Then suddenly it splits revealing a satisfied smile.

"You'll be hearing from me, Berry." He jogs backwards his unblinking eyes still on me, then jerks his head round and re-joins the careers, leaving me to ponder the strange exchange which had just occurred.


	7. Chapter 7

**This is the last chapter before the games. I have skipped some of the main hunger games factors like the interviews and scores etc, but I have reasons** **trust me! Anyway I hope you enjoy, please review if you have anything to say and thanks for reading.**

* * *

><p>I hear a thud from the other side of the room. I spy Finn through my lashes. He has just dropped an impressive set of weights and his heavy footsteps are now advancing towards me. Will I ever learn how to complete a snare?<p>

"What did _he _want?"

"Oh Finn, didn't see you there." I smile weakly. "He was just helping me out with this rabbit snare." I show him Jessie's creation whilst hiding my own pathetic attempt.

"If you need help Rachel just come to me, okay?" He stands, apprehensively towering over me then a moment later appears to come to a decision and sits down beside me. Finn begins flicking through the book of snares at such a pace I know he couldn't possibly be taking in any of the information; I can tell something was preying on his mind. He lingers on a particularly gruesome page demonstrating a man being torn apart by tiny hooks, I shudder and he snaps the book shut. "Just because you don't want to be my ally-"

"No Finn, I do." I interject, trying to come across as less of a horrible human being. "I just think alone might be best...for you." Why do I find defending my decision increasingly difficult?

"Well I still want to help you. During the time we have left, if you will let me."

"You know Finn, I appreciate that but I am fine by myself."

He appears a wounded for some reason. Why is he so determined to help me? His eyes drop, his clasped hands twist and turn in frustration.

"Well I'm not. I-I don't want to be alone." He stammers.

Weak and exposed Finn crouches before me and I know for certain now that he is scared too. He isn't the evil mastermind I have twisted him into. Kurt's murderer, the boy who volunteered to reap revenge upon me, no- he is just Finn Hudson. Finn Hudson from back in District Eight. Finn Hudson who I met under the oak tree. Finn Hudson who is sweet and stupid with his vacant expression. How could I forget him? Why else would he volunteer if it wasn't to ensure my safe return home? This epiphany strikes me so swiftly, clearing the fog from this mystery which had plagued my mind for so long that I wonder why this conclusion wasn't obvious before.

"You're not alone."

Convincing Miss Pillsbury that Finn and I were now a team was harder than expected. She seemed to think that I had simply panicked when confronted with the other tributes. Yes, I was frightened even more so as each day passed counting down towards my entrance in the arena but surely having Finn as an ally could only improve my chances? Naturally she had no power over the situation but I could tell she disapproved.

"You didn't trust him yesterday Rachel, you have to think to yourself what has really changed between now and then."

Everything had changed. But I had no idea how to explain it.

* * *

><p><strong>Last day before the Games<strong>

The next day at training Finn stuck rigidly by my side even as I lingered at the stations which he clearly had no interest in. I knew he had sworn to help me, but partially I think he was just trying to keep Jessie's presence at bay. I occasionally still caught Jessie glance from across the other side of the training center, he would fix his eyes upon me whilst throwing a knife towards the marked heart of a dummy. In response to this blatant flaunt of his talents I simply gave over dramatic yawn but my attempt to annoy him was futile as he grinned widely in response. However the stunt must have impressed his friends as it produced howls of appreciation from the Careers who then in turn would try throwing knives blindly at the targets. Jessie's blonde counterpart from One and Sebastian, the vicious fisherman from Three both achieved this technique flawlessly. Little could be said for District Two though as their knives miss the dummy entirely and almost impale a smaller boy learning to build a fire alone, in a quiet corner of the room.

A woman bearing a whistle runs over to the careers, '_brave lady' _I think to myself as she approaches them with the same stern look she always wears.

"You lot." We all hear her yell, even from the other side of the training center. "You know the rules, save the fighting for the arena." This produces laughter in response. This casual carefree sound isn't just laughter to me –it is so fiendish and menacing that I have to look away from the scene.

"Move it along, you are clearly incapable of throwing knives in straight line so perhaps you should try and work on your aim. Head on over to the archery station-" They don't move a muscle; instead they jerk their heads around in order to glare at the boy in the corner. A silent threat.

"Go on." She points towards a wall of bows, urging them to move. The giant pair of brutes reluctantly make their way towards archery, a station unsettling close to Finn and I. So we move round to knives in order to evade them and are fortunate enough to hear the trainer reprimanding the remaining Careers.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm guys, but a little more caution next time would be appreciated." She gives them a knowing look and then leaves.

Finn and I stand by the rack of knives, cautiously watching Jessie, Sebastian, the blonde and the other girl from Three as we choose a weapon to practice with.

"What's that kid's name, the one in the corner?" I ask him discreetly.

"The one who almost got himself killed?" I frown slightly, annoyed by the comment but nod. "Blaine Anderson, District Nine."  
>Our District's neighbour, I think to myself. Just another teen living in poverty who happened to be unlucky.<p>

"He looks pretty shaken up, maybe we should call him over to train with us for a while."

"And make ourselves a target for the Two as well? I don't think so."

I look up at him, shocked that he shot down my idea so hastily.

"My priority here is you, Rachel. I don't have time to mess about making friends besides Blaine looks fine, see he already has someone to train with." Finn's eyes are aimed over my head so I spin around to find Sebastian approaching Blaine, who remains in the corner wearing a wide eyed expression.

"That is a Career you moron, Blaine looks scared to death." I disregard Finn's protest and instinctively walk over to Blaine's aid with Finn reluctantly following in tow.

"Look I'm sorry about my friends, they aren't very coordinated." I enter the exchange surprised to find Sebastian apologising. He flashes a grin at Blaine and then proceeds to walk towards him who quickly backtracks into the wall until he is firmly pressed against it. The Career then smoothly retrieves the embedded knife positioned now by Blaine's neck, tosses it into the air and catches it in the sheath. It would have been an impressive feat if it hadn't reeked of arrogance. Blaine just looks away and clenches his jaw, not willing to accept the apology or even appreciate the trick. In fact he looks rather repulsed.

"Let me make it up to you, come train with me for a while I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two." With one side of his smile raised and head cocked to the side he slowly looks Blaine up and down. This puts me on edge, I'm not sure exactly what Sebastian Smythe's intentions are but I do know that his proposition held an entirely different intent than mine.

"No thank you. I was in the middle of something when your _friend_ almost killed me." Despite his perfectly polite response, Blaine had an edge to his voice and I could tell from his glowing white knuckles that he was restraining his ever-growing temper.

"Hey Blaine, mind if I join you? I could really do with brushing up on my fire building skills." I interject, hopeful that Sebastian will take this as a sign to leave. Blaine looks to me and his fists release; I can tell he is relieved. Sebastian straightens up and turns to face me. He appears reluctant to acknowledge me and sighs as he is greeted with my face.

"We were sort of in the middle of something here, so maybe you should just hop on back over to the trap station with your boyfriend and _say_, struggle on with that little rabbit snare that you couldn't quite master yesterday despite getting an entire demonstration from my friend Jessie here. Hm, that sound good?" His patronising smile falls from his face to reveal a menacing glower, with his strong jaw tightened and eyes piercing.

"Sure." Blaine's voice pipes up from behind Sebastian, breaking the chilling silence. "Let's build that fire." His voice is so upbeat; it's like he has lost all anger from the moment and is completely oblivious to Sebastian's threatening stare.

"Alright then." Sebastian puts his arms up, signalling defeat as he slowly backs away. "I guess I'll see you all tomorrow. Aren't you all so excited? Personally _I. Just. Can't. Wait._"

We stand in silence for a moment as our minds lost in a connected world where we envision the horrors that tomorrow holds. A bloodbath at the cornucopia or if we survive that, the prospect of this whole new threat that awaits us; Sebastian hunting us down, picking us off- one by one.

"Uh, Finn- that's your name right? Will you be joining us?" Once again Blaine's optimistic attitude breaks the silence and brings us back to the present.

"Take a seat, kid. I'm going to teach Rachel some knife skills, over there. And you won't follow us, clear?" I had almost forgotten he was standing right behind me, due to his complete lack of participation. But now when he speaks he isn't hesitant, he talks with assertiveness like he has been waiting to put the brakes on this alliance before it had even begun.

Blaine looks hopefully to me and I avert my eyes. I have already dragged Finn into this. We are now a Career target just like he said and I am entirely to blame. Perhaps Finn is smarter than I give him credit for. Blaine stands there and appears broken, his smile fading and hope dwindling. Then he takes his seat.

"Crystal." His voice is lifeless, the optimism drained from him as he picks up a piece of flint and returns to work.

* * *

><p>After dinner I have my last private session with Miss Pillsbury, Finn and I were a team now but she refused to talk to us together. She presented the ultimatum "solo or none at all", I chose solo as I knew I needed all the help I could get. Finn however shrugged her entire proposition off and simply disappeared in the evenings uninterested in any form of 'tactic talk'.<p>

"How did it go? What did you find?" She asks eagerly as I try making myself comfortable on her plastic-wrapped sofa.

"District One are flawless." I report to her, talking fast and without purpose so I can move onto the Districts which I think I have a chance of supplying useful information for but she interrupts and my plan is foiled.

"Flawless? Rachel everyone has a weakness." She pauses for a moment, eyes closed- buried in thought with two fingers on the bridge of her nose.  
>"Describe them for me."<p>

"Well the girl is blonde, beautiful.. rather dainty and they are both quite small for Career Tributes actually." I think aloud and Miss Pillsbury nods, seemingly pleased with where I am headed. "I suppose their weakness is hand to hand combat when faced with a larger opponent."

"Yes, exactly!" She exclaims, like I have unveiled some essentially helpful fact.

"But I am tiny, what good will that do?"

"Rachel, dear. Knowledge is power." I nod, but inside I can't help feeling afraid, feeling that I have no advantage and no chance of survival.

"Two?"

"Unobservant, bad accuracy."

"Three?"

"Slow."

We run through all of the districts, I report on the weaknesses I have discovered and Emma helps uncover the ones I am unsure on. Despite technically knowing the best ways to kill all of my fellow tributes I am still not comforted in the slightest, I'm not even sure I can kill anyone.

Emma sits quietly opposite on me on the sofa, taking in my expression seemingly reading my thoughts as though they were scribbled across my face. Then after a moment she pulls a small leather parcel out from underneath the sofa. It is wrapped in a carefully tied ribbon which she gives a sharp tug in order to reveal the parcel's contents; a wooden cylindrical tube, a handful of darts and a glass jar tightly sealed filled with red liquid.

"I really shouldn't be showing this to you Rachel, as it is somewhat" she tilts her head and looks upwards momentarily, "against the rules…But you know how to keep a secret, don't you Rachel."

I instantly nod, taken aback that she would risk so much on me, a girl she hardly even liked.

"This here is a blowgun and it is your ticket to winning the games." She extends the wooden tube and it measures up at about two or three feet at its maximum length. She pretends to dip a dart in the poison and then inserts it into the tube, she fires the dart into a pillow at the other end of the room as a quick demonstration.

"Simple as. So a copy of this leather packet here will be in the Games, a fair distance from the Cornucopia. No one ever goes for it because no one knows what it is, but now you do. This is the knowledge I am giving to you Rachel Berry, do with it what you will. You are dismissed."

I walk towards the doorway and my hand rests upon the handle, as I hesitate before leaving.

"That's how you won, isn't it?" She smiles at me, not saying a single word but not needing to as I already have my answer. "Thank you." I nod to her and then leave wondering if this advice could be my salvation.

* * *

><p>It is fairly late by the time I leave my meeting with Miss Pillsbury so I am yet again walking to my room alone, navigating my through the dark.<p>

"_Psst_."

I flick my eyes up and find no one around, just a simple Avox standing against a wall in uniform manner. Must be the rest of them chatting away in their rooms I tell myself. Hmm maybe it's the end door. I walk a little farther.

"_Hey Rach_." A hushed voice calls to me. I spin round. Only the Avox is standing behind me. I rub my eyes wearily; I must be more tired than I thought. Avox's can't talk- everyone knows that. But after I removed my hands and my eyes readjust to the light I find Kurt's face peering out at me from under the Avox's cloak.

"Sheesh Kurt!" I pant, shocked and exasperated. "You can't just pop up whenever you feel like it."

"_Shh_. There's a reason why I'm whispering you know."

"Well you startled me." I cross my arms in an act of annoyed defiance but adopt his whisper as I don't want anyone to discover my insanity.

"I need to talk to you." He walks before me leading down the hallway, as I follow I watch his fatal wound oozing and immediately begin to feel nauseous. However beneath the blood and twisted flesh I see something glint, a metallic object reflecting light buried deep within his back.

We reach my room and he perches on the desk as I make my way into the en suite and wash the day's stress from my face.

"Did you listen to me at all on the train?" He calls through to me. I decide to ignore him as I can't stand Kurt when he acts so condescending, which was almost all of the time. However when I glance up to check my face in the mirror, I am greeted with his instead. The tanned, sharper version of my old friend is now reflected before me. I would have laughed at his disapproving, scornful face if it wasn't for how serious his voice sounded- which honestly scared me a little.

"Of course I did-"

"Oh really, Rachel. _Really_?" The superiority in his sarcasm irked me to no end. Why should I follow his advice anyway? He was the dead one. "Well why are you now buddying up to my brother dearest then?"

"I thought you told me to play nice. And that's what I am doing." I slouch down next to the bath tub, hugging my knees as he preaches at me.

"Yes, that's what you needed to work on most but you forgot the quintessential part. You're letting your guard down Rachel! God maybe I shouldn't have tried to help you at all, you're wrapped up in so many lies you don't even know who you are anymore. You've forgotten who your enemies are."

I tuck my head under my arms, protecting myself. Shutting him out.

"Just stop it, okay? Stop messing with my head Kurt." My feeble voice muffled by the cocoon I reside within. I can't doubt myself, not now. I just need to focus on entering that arena tomorrow with a clear, level head. I can't change the game plan now.

I hear three distinct taps on the door. Certain that it isn't Pastelle I dash to answer it, desperate to prematurely end my debate with Kurt. I take a moment to breathe and compose myself before opening it.

"Oh," I breathe a sigh of relief. My hunch was correct. "It's just you."

I open the door to reveal Finn resting on the frame; an uneasy expression plagues his features.

"I was wondering if we could talk."

"Yeah sure, what is it?" My head instinctively turns, checking to see if Kurt is eagerly listening behind me. He has returned to his seat on the desk and is slowly shaking head.

"No, not here. Come to the roof." I'm starting to think this is a bad idea, anything Finn can't talk about here is something clearly we could get into a lot of trouble for, and Pastelle already has a grudge on me.

"Rachel, don't you dare." I hear the corpse calling from behind me. I can't stand to spend another minute alone with my insanity so I close the door and lock it behind me.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>We take the stairwell instead of the lift in order for our late night wander to go unnoticed, but as we start to climb the stairs I gradually notice Finn's feet missing every few steps and having to cling onto the bannister for support. He's drunk. I had noticed his generous intake of wine at dinner but we just chalked it up to nerves and dismissed the entire matter. It would take a barrel full of wine to intoxicate someone that big, I told myself. Feeling partially guilty for his state, I grab his hand and help him with his pacing. Not confessing that I have noticed his current state or mocking him for it, simply helping him as we climb to the roof in silence. We sit on a ledge and look out towards the illuminated city.<p>

"I'm sorry, I know it's late." He stares outward and throws a pebble from the roof's gravelly surface towards the distance. It creates a sparks and is thrown back towards us, he catches it and there it lies- charred within his palm.

"But I just wanted to talk to you before, you know- tomorrow. About well, us."

"Oh." I say, feebly. Not one of my most eloquent sentences- granted, but he isn't really giving me much to work with.

"Rachel, the other day at the opening ceremony when you closed your eyes-" He pauses; clearly knowing what is he going to say next but unsure how to put it. "You thought I was going to kiss you. Didn't you?"

"I- uh.." This was normally the sort of thing he would either let go or not be able to figure out in his placid mind. I'm guessing the wine has resurfaced the memory and given him the courage to discuss it.

"Well, I wish I had." His eyes fix upon mine, searching deep within them. Then softly he clasps my hands leaning in, in towards me. Oh no, it's really happening this time. I am so repulsed my nose shrivels instinctively and I sharply pull away. He is left hanging between us, suspended within the moment. Suddenly his face contorts into a twisted smile.

"I _knew_ it." He whispers so quietly I can tell it is more for him than me. "I _knew_you weren't in love with me." He speaks louder now, with conviction strengthening his voice. "All this time you were just playing me, staying on my good side whilst keeping me at arm's length."

He reaches out towards me and rips the necklace from my throat, the catch cutting the back of my neck as he tears it free. He pelts it straight off the roof. A flash of fire and it has returned, red hot and smouldering at my feet. The star burns until there is nothing left. This isn't good, I watch in fear as he heaves with exhaustion at the fury consuming his body. Then he begins to pace, back and forth. I can tell how fast his mind is going, getting more and more worked up.

"No Finn, I didn't mean-" for you to think that. It was sincerely never my intention for my charade of affections to go so far. But I am cut off before I get the chance to properly explain myself.

"You are such a liar Rachel. But you're the worst kind. Always so damned self-righteous, thinking you are better-" He is shouting now, losing all sense of where we are. Alcohol fueling a raging fire.

"-than everybody else."

He draws closer to me revealing a psychotic glint in his eye. "But you listen to me now-Rachel Berry. Would you have sacrificed yourself for Kurt?"

In a heartbeat.

But I am paralysed in fear so the words never escape my lips.

"I didn't think so. But look what you did to me, made me in exile in my own home. My own mother won't even look me in the eye. You think I can't tell what they are thinking? That I'm too stupid to work it out?" His words are quieter, softer now. "I knew where their hearts lay way before you humiliated me at that reaping." His arm extends pointing away from the city, towards our homeland of District Eight. Slowly his face transforms revealing an ugly darkness within him, something that I had only seen once before, at the prior Reaping.

"With that stupid, useless- _faggy _little boy."

It took all my restraint at that very moment not to push him into that electrocuted fence, instead I lunge at him. At this huge boy who is twice my height. He pushes my head backwards with a single hand and I fall to the concrete with a crack. I can taste the saltiness of blood filling my mouth. He then presses himself on top of me, his hands pinning down my wrists and body weighing down my chest. We are so close I can taste the alcohol on his breath.

"It is going to be so easy getting to you in the arena." He speaks breathily, the way you would talk to a lover. I gather enough saliva and blood together in my mouth and spit at him, blood spattering him straight in the eyes. Instantly he releases me, rising and staggering backwards from my attack. I take this opportunity and run with it, literally- fleeing from the scene.

* * *

><p>I make it to a darkened corner in the stairwell when a blur of colour passes me. I go unnoticed as my petite body has doubled over and I am half crouched half lying on the floor no longer able to support myself. Through the beams above me I see Pastelle making her way to the roof. She must've saw us on the cameras. I wonder what will happen to Finn when she discovers him in a restricted area, the night before the Games. The endless possibilities excite me so I stumble up the stairs, swallowing my own blood as it attempts to pour out over the seal of my mouth. I just need to stay conscious for a few more minutes, I tell myself.<p>

"You drunken idiot!" Pastelle hisses at Finn as she throws a tissue into his lap. "You have jeopardized everything."

"She doesn't know anything, relax." Finn slurs, and mops his face. Pastelle is visibly repulsed.

"Wrong!" She screeches at him, her careful hiss developing into a full bodied snarl. "She's knows about the reaping and _now_she knows why you volunteered."

"Well not exactly…" He hiccups and lets the sentence drift off into a drunken abyss.

Furious Pastelle catches herself and regains her composure before turning back to Finn. "The deal's off. You're on your own."

"What? You ensured my safety. Promised I'd win. You can't take that back now."

I hear Finn's pleads but Pastelle shows no interest and is now making her way towards me. I melt back into the shadows and then slowly follow her down the stairs clutching the rail as my head spins and stomach churns, nauseous from the blood it has been force-fed. 

* * *

><p>"Kurt." My eyes instantly search for him as I enter the room. I cough and splutter into my hands, my body not quite ready to enunciate words. I look into my palms, the palms which are now patterned with scarlet spots.<p>

There is no response, no one perching upon my desk.

"Kurt. I need you." I run through to check the bathroom. It's white and pristine. Empty of blood- his and mine. I dash over to the mirror and stare hard into it, expecting his face to interrupt my reflection but instead I am confronted with the cold hard reality of my own battered image. I have never felt quite so alone. For so long I have been myself; wishing for a family, a friend even just for a father who loved me but even then I was content. I had the driving force within me. At first it was just mere ambition but when Kurt was taken from me that ambition was replaced with the urge for revenge. Kurt was all I thought of, he was always there within my mind so he was never truly dead. But now as I sink to my knees, returning to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor Kurt feels truly dead and I have never felt so alone.


End file.
